Shadows See All
by Trickstergal33
Summary: During her training, Alanna had a lot of close calls that almost revealed her as a girl. Luckily for her no one other than Myles ever guessed her true identity. Or did they? Her friend Francis of Nond was shy and quiet, and a very observant shadow…
1. A New Boy

Shadows See All  
  
Let's face it, during her training Alanna had a lot of close calls that almost revealed her as a girl. Luckily for her (or maybe it was more of the goddess' protection than luck) no one other than Myles ever guessed her true identity. Or did they? Her friend Francis of Nond was shy and quiet, and a very observant shadow...  
  
Disclaimer: All the characters and places in this story belong to Tamora Pierce.  
  
ooooooo  
  
Francis of Nond nervously peered into the mirror, his sharp eyes searching every inch of his reflection for anything that might attract unwanted attention from Duke Gareth. To his great relief, his unruly blond curls had for once decided to take a rest from their war against his comb.  
  
He straightened his gold tunic one last time, swiped a stray bit of dirt from his nose, and turned away from the looking glass, determined to not worry himself further about his appearance. He knew he was clean and neat enough to meet even his mother's high standards. Duke Gareth would find nothing at fault with him.  
  
As he pulled on his freshly polished boots, he couldn't help but marvel at his misfortune. It was just his luck that this year he was assigned to wait on the training mater every night. Francis couldn't remember another time in all his fourteen years that he had been as nervous.  
  
He was so nervous in fact, that when his best friend Raoul of Goldenlake pounded nosily on his door as he done everyday for the past three years of their training, he jumped two feet into the air.  
  
"Come on, Francis, time to inspect the new page Gary says has joined our ranks!" he called cheerfully.  
  
"Coming Raoul," Francis called. Against his will, he took one last look in the mirror, his blue eyes meeting his reflection's identical ones. Tearing away from his own measuring gaze, he pulled open the door and slipped out into the page's wing.  
  
"What took you so long? You took as long as a girl to get ready!" Raoul said jokingly.  
  
Francis reddened slightly, but he began to relax. Raoul's easygoing manner had the power to make even a condemned man forget his worries.  
  
"I just didn't want a sloppy appearance to get me in trouble with Duke Gareth on the first night of serving," Francis admitted quietly.  
  
"Oh, that's right, you've got to serve his table this year," the page answered with a grin, "It's been nice knowing you my friend." He said.  
  
"Nice knowing him?" a new voice asked, "Of course it's been nice knowing our Francis, else wise your Dancer might have danced you right onto the ground. I never met a lad who can handle a horse better, except maybe Stefan. But why might you cease to know milord of Nond?"  
  
The voice belonged to Gareth the Younger of Naxen, another of Francis' friends. He had caught up with Francis and Raoul and now matched their brisk pace.  
  
"Francis's got to serve your father at dinner this year," Raoul informed him.  
  
Gary whistled, "My sympathies Francis."  
  
"Your sympathy isn't worth much Gary, you think anything that gets someone else in trouble in funny." Alex of Tirragen said lightly as he slipped out of his room. To Francis he asked, "Is it true what Raoul said, you've got to serve Duke Gareth?"  
  
Francis nodded in reply. He had never been very good with words. While everything came out right on paper, his words never seemed to work when he spoke. As a result, he appeared shy and preferred to keep his thoughts to himself.  
  
"I wish you luck," Alex said sincerely.  
  
The four boys halted in front of another door towards the end of the hallway.  
  
"Jon, hurry up, we're going to be late!" Gary called. Prince Jonathan, a third year page, was the fifth member of their circle. Francis considered him to be their leader. Jon had a manner about him that made people instantly respect him, and not just because he was heir to the Tortallan throne. Francis admired him for it and followed the younger boy's lead without question.  
  
Gary raised his large fist to knock on the door, rolling his eyes at Raoul, Alex and Francis.  
  
"His royal highness just loves to keep us waiting," he said quietly in jest to them. However, he didn't notice that Jon had already opened the door and heard his remark. Francis and Alex grinned widely and Raoul laughed outright, not at Gary's joke, but because the youth had unknowingly begun to knock on Jon's forehead.  
  
"Gary!" Jon yelled to his cousin as he pushed Gary's big arm away. Seeing Gary's sheepish grin, the prince's anger faded and he too began to laugh.  
  
Faintly under the laughter, Francis heard the palace bells toll that it was a half an hour until diner.  
  
"We'd best get going, the bells just rang," he informed them quietly.  
  
"Ears like a cat that one has," Jon said shaking his head, "I didn't even hear them. Let's go," He led the way down the hall, Raoul, Gary, Alex and Francis following close behind. When they turned the corner, Jon stopped so suddenly that Gary almost walked into him.  
  
"What is this?" Jon's cool voice rang out and instantly the commotion in front of him halted. Francis looked around Raoul's big figure to see what was going on. A large group of pages was watching as Ralon of Malvon picked himself up off the ground. The fourth year page was sneering maliciously at a small red headed boy. Both he and the other boy looked disheveled and Francis realized they had been fighting. He hoped the lad had gotten a few good hits in on Ralon. He hated Ralon more than he hated anyone else at the palace. From the first day of their training as pages, Ralon had picked on Francis because of his shy and quiet manner. The teasing and little bits of pain he had inflicted on Francis had not stopped until he had become friends with Raoul, Alex, and Gary.  
  
As a first year page explained to Jon what had happened, Francis examined the new boy. He was just a little thing, so small that Francis wondered if he was really ten years old. His face was red with anger and embarrassment, almost as red as his hair. The oddest thing about the new boy however, were his eyes. They were a bright shade of purple that Francis had never before seen as an eye color.  
  
From what he was hearing, the redhead had a bit of a temper on him. However, as the first year page continued to relate to Jon what had happened, the new boy looked more and more nervous. He looked almost as if he was embarrassed of his actions, Francis noted. The boy was staring uncertainly at the floor, biting his bottom lip. There was something very familiar about this miniscule action, but Francis couldn't put his finger on it. Jon dismissed Ralon with a promise to 'talk' to him later and they soon learned that the redhead was named Alan of Trebond.  
  
Francis immediately liked him. Anyone who was an enemy of Ralon was a friend of his and anyway, he liked the way Alan always seemed to speak his mind. After Jon gave permission, everyone introduced himself to Alan, and Gary was chosen to be his sponsor.  
  
Francis was about to remind Jon that they needed to get to the great dining hall, when the bell rang to summon them. Quickly, the pages rushed off, none wanting to be late on their first night of serving.  
  
As Francis trotted next to Raoul, a thought struck him. He remembered why the way Alan had bit his lower lip looked so familiar. All three of his sisters did the exact same thing whenever they were hiding something.  
  
oooooooooo  
  
Please review and let me know what you think. I plan to update this story whenever inspiration strikes. It'll be a collection of separate chapter- story things where Francis notices what many others don't. It won't be too long though, because sadly Francis died before he ever got to speak more than four sentences in the book... this also make's it hard to write his character. Let me know if you have any suggestions. Thanks! 


	2. Morning Classes

Chapter Two. Here's Alanna's first morning of classes. Francis notices a few more little clues to her true identity, but does he pay attention to them? Thanks for all of your reviews guys; they really encouraged me to continue this story. I even know how it's going to end (whether Francis will die like he did in the book or not), I think. I can't wait to tell you, but I'll have to until the end of this story :) .  
  
Disclaimer: The characters, places, and many of the events in this story come from The Song of the Lioness: The First Adventure by Tamora Pierce. So basically everything belongs to her. Dialogue that has double quotes ( ""hello"" - Like this) around it is a direct quote from the book, and all of that definitely belong to Tamora Pierce.

* * *

When the deafening morning bells called Francis into wakefulness, he felt oddly refreshed. Serving Duke Gareth hadn't been as bad as he had expected. He had served the Duke and Duchess of Naxon quickly and tidily without a single spill. Francis had been greatly relieved when at the end of the night, his training master found nothing to complain about. Now all he had to do was stay punctual and poised for the next year, he thought with a grimace  
  
Silently, he sat up and slipped out of bed. The sun was just rising above the royal forest without a single cloud to mar its morning rays. He might have whistled simply for pleasure of such a beautiful day, but he didn't want to disturb his neighboring pages who were more than likely trying to catch a few more minutes of sleep before the next bell demanded that there was no more time for such pleasure. They would think it silly and girly that he admired the beauty of the world around him. This was just one of the many reasons why he preferred to keep his thoughts to himself.  
  
After a quick stretch to wake up his stiff body, he stripped off his nightshirt and began to dress.  
  
This time when Raoul's morning knock came, Francis didn't jump. It was just another part of their morning routine.  
  
"Come in Raoul," he called softly as he pulled on his breeches.  
  
Raoul strolled into Francis's room looking as cheerful as ever.  
  
"G'morning Francis!" he said through a giant grin.  
  
"Morning Raoul," Francis answered as he began to button his shirt. "You're up early, even for you." He noted.  
  
Raoul nodded, then made his way over to the looking glass to straighten his hair. Francis hid a grin when he saw that his big friend had to stoop down to see his reflection. Raoul had grown quite a bit over the summer break.  
  
"I'm just excited. We're fourth years, finally! Kings of the pages! Maybe this year our teachers will finally realize that our heads aren't as full of fluff as they think."  
  
"Yes," Francis replied, "And perhaps you will shrink. Hand me my tunic?"  
  
Raoul delicately flung the wrinkle-free golden tunic over to his friend before continuing, "And next year, next year Francis, all this work will finally mean something. We'll be squires! No more boring classes then, just adventure!"  
  
"Don't get ahead of yourself Raoul, we've got to survive this year first," Francis said with a laugh. Quickly, he slipped his boots on and collected all he would need for the morning classes.  
  
"Right, let's go eat," Francis said cheerfully.  
  
He slipped out the door and was surprised to find Gary outside waiting for them. Normally, nothing was worth delaying a good meal to Gary, yet here he was leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway, looking as if he had all the time in the world.  
  
"Why Gary, I didn't know you cared!" Raoul exclaimed.  
  
"Sorry, chaps, but I don't. Well not about you anyway. I'm waiting for young master Alan. I'm his sponsor you know," Gary said, puffing his chest out importantly. His moment of dignity was ruined when Raoul elbowed him in the stomach.  
  
At that moment, the new page Alan stepped out of his room, looking slightly groggy and bleary eyed. Francis was surprised to find that Alan had the room next to his.  
  
"Good morning Alan!" Gary exclaimed cheerfully, much to the distaste of the tired looking redhead.  
  
Alan answered in some sort of a grunt, only half awake.  
  
"Morning Alan," Raoul and Francis echoed.  
  
"Morning," Alan managed, swiping a lock of hair from his eyes.  
  
"Well, let's head to the mess hall lads, we'll need our strength to survive the morning lessons," Gary said starting down the hall.

* * *

At breakfast the group met up with Prince Jonathan and Alex who had already begun to eat. Jon greeted them cheerfully while Alex waved weakly. Like the new boy Alan, Alex hated to be up early enough to see the sun rise. Francis hoped that he would be awake enough by mathematics to help him. Math was his worst subject by far and the fact that the Mithrian priest who taught the subject made him nervous didn't help.  
  
Francis placed his tray, loaded with porridge, toast, and sausages, across from Jon and sat. Raoul plopped down next to him on one side and Alan on the other. He dug into his porridge, laden with cinnamon and honey, listening to his friends' morning chatter.  
  
"So Alan," Jon asked the new page, "Why do you want to become a knight?"  
  
Alan however continued to eat as though he had not heard the prince.  
  
"Alan?" he asked a little louder.  
  
Alan looked up from his plate and stared at him, baffled. It seemed to take him a second to realize that the prince was speaking to him.  
  
"I'm sorry, what did you say your highness?" he asked sheepishly.  
  
Francis studied Alan for a moment. It had been as if the lad had forgotten his own name. He let it go, explaining to himself that the first night at the palace could do that to a country boy. He remembered how he had felt after his first night at the palace and was glad that he had adjusted to the change quickly.  
  
"It's alright, it took me a full year with Gary, Francis and Raoul to learn to be at least half awake in the morning. I swear they should have been birds; they're so cheerful so early. Alex over here," he gestured to his friend, "has yet to even try to be civil. I asked you why you decided to become a knight."  
  
Alan pondered his answered for a moment, chomping on an apple. Finally he decided, "I've wanted to be a knight for as long as I can remember, it's been something I've dreamed of since I was a little boy."  
  
"Not that you're much of a bigger boy now, eh?" Gary joked as Alan turned crimson. It was true. Alan was easily the smallest page at the palace.  
  
"And, I did not want to go to the con-Corus Royal University. I would hate to be a scholar like my father wanted me to. I want to have adventures, not read about them in books."  
  
Raoul nodded in agreement, "I'd trade a book for a blade any day."  
  
Overhead the bell rang to summon them to class. Alex groaned softly.  
  
"Well," Francis began, "If you did trade your books in now, Master Gadsberth might be a tad upset, seeing as you still have to get through his class."  
  
"A tad upset?" Gary asked jovially as he picked up his tray to leave, "He would die of shock, then come back to throttle you!" To Alan he explained, "Master Gadsberth is our Reading and Writing master. That's what we have first."  
  
Francis picked up his own tray and hurried to follow the other pages out of the mess.

* * *

In reading and writing, Master Gadsberth promptly made sure that all the new boys could read and that the older pages had managed to crack a book during their summer of "lazing around". No sooner had he done so, than he assigned them all a two thousand word essay on what they did over the summer.  
  
Next was mathematics where Master Hornswort seemed to pick him out especially to do a complex problem on the front board. Francis had never even seen such a problem and had a feeling that Mater Hornswort had assigned him the problem just to humiliate him in front of everyone. As he trudged back to his seat to start the punishment work that he had received for admitting that he didn't know how to solve the problem, Francis wondered what it was that he had done to make the mathematics teacher hate him.  
  
He asked Raoul as much during their morning break.  
  
"There's no rhyme or reason to it, Francis, that man's just got a grudge against you. And there's a good chance you'll never find out why." He explained.  
  
"The least he could do is teach me what I do wrong, but he won't even do that. Why if it weren't for Alex, I wouldn't know what two and two was!" Francis exclaimed.  
  
Raoul laughed as he steered him to deportment class, "My, Francis I don't think I've ever heard you raise your voice."  
  
Francis reddened and tried to regain his normal composure. "It just doesn't make any sense," he muttered as he took a seat.  
  
During deportment, the pages worked on reviewing bows and the proper topics of discussion with men of different ranks. Francis hid a smile when he saw Alan's look of indignity when the Deportment Master told him that he knew close to nothing about manners and must have been raised by barbarians. The poor lad was looking overwhelmed already and they were only half way through the morning.  
  
Towards the end of class, the Deportment Master took Francis and two other boys aside to practice the bows used by one lord to greet another. After his father died three year ago of illness, Francis had become the lord of fief Nond. He and the other young lords had to master an entirely new set of bows on top of the ones they were expected to use as pages.  
  
Finally, all of the pages were released to go to their history class. This was Francis' favorite class of the day, taught by Sir Myles of Olau. The knight was nothing like their other teachers and had a knack for keeping even the most absent minded boy's attention. Today they discussed the Bazhir wars and, as always, the Code of Chivalry. Francis chuckled along with the others when Alan told Sir Myles that all he had learned so far was ""to jump when I'm told to and I have no free time."" Francis wished that he had the nerve to speak his mind like Alan, but he would only do so was in his daydreams.  
  
The final class of the morning was Philosophy, Francis' second favorite class. While most boys took the hour to catch up on sleep, Francis listened with rapt attention to the teacher. Philosophy pondered all the questions that he often wondered himself. What was the difference between right and wrong? When was it all right to break the law? And To what point did you honor the rights of your over lords?  
  
Francis couldn't see how any of it could be boring. After class, he walked with Raoul, Gary, Alex and Alan down to the practice courts.  
  
"Gary," Alan asked, "What was the work we're supposed to do for philosophy tonight, I, uh, wasn't really paying attention."  
  
Gary laughed, "I don't know. I never pay any attention to that old windbag. He would go on for hours if the bell didn't summon us away."  
  
Alan looked a bit worried, but Gray continued, "Just ask Francis, that's what everybody does. He's the only one who pays any attention during that class."  
  
Francis grinned, "You fellows don't know what you're missing!" Quickly he told the group the night's assignment before they began their afternoon on the practice courts.

* * *

So guys, how are you liking this so far? I know I'm kind of taking this slowly, but I have to stretch it out because of Francis' untimely death in the book. Please review! 


	3. Practice courts

Here's chapter three. Read, Review, etc. More Training fun for Francis, 'Alan' and the gang.  
  
Disclaimer: The people and places in this story belong to Tamora Pierce. Some of the events come from the first book of her Lioness series, Alanna: The First Adventure.

* * *

As Francis was making his way down to the practice courts, Jonathan caught up with him. They chatted cheerfully as they made the long walk to the field where they would warm up for the afternoon.  
  
"So Francis, how was your summer? I really haven't gotten a chance to talk to you since you came back to the palace." Jon asked.   
  
"Not very restful, that's for sure." Francis replied, "The moment I got home, our sergeant-at-arms picked up where he left off last summer in my lessons. If I'd have known how much work was involved in running a fief, maybe I would have passed on my inheritance to my brother." Jon looked at him with a raised eyebrow.   
  
Francis grinned, knowing what he was thinking. "Well, perhaps not," Francis had not been the official heir to fief Nond; he was the younger son of his parents only two children. His older brother, Franklin, had been named heir until their father changed his will just days before he died. Franklin was not the most dependable person. He too had dreamed to become a knight, but his lack of commitment had led him to give up during his second year as a squire.   
  
Had Franklin inherited Nond, his father had explained to him calmly on his deathbed, he would have squandered everything he and his fathers before him had worked for. So when his father died, Francis was named Lord of Nond, much to the distaste of his brother. Even today Francis was sure that Franklin hated him for inheriting Nond, when the fief should have been his.  
  
"How was your summer Jon?" Francis asked the prince.  
  
"Much the same as yours. You would think my father could teach me all I'd ever need to know about being king when I'm his squire, but he insists that if I'm to be a good ruler, I've got to start young!" Francis smiled understandingly. He and Jon shared a certain bond that came from their similar situations. They both had responsibility that their others friends wouldn't learn of until they were much older. Often times Gary would complain that he and Jon where much too serious, but they would just smile and shake their heads, knowing that their worries were much greater than Gary could understand.  
  
"So," Jon asked, "How do you think young Trebond is enjoying his first day of training?"  
  
Francis almost laughed, "He survived the morning classes; that says something about the little guy's character, but we'll see how he feels after this afternoon."  
  
Upon reaching the field where they would exercise, the older pages spread out into their normal neat rows, the first years following their example. The new fourth year pages now had the responsibility of leading the warms ups. Today, Raoul was chosen and he led them through an hour of exercises and stretches that would loosen up their bodies while at the same time built up their muscles.  
  
Next came the basics of staff fighting for the new pages and more complex drills for the older boys. Later, once their teachers agreed that second, third, and fourth year pages had not forgotten what they had been taught of the staff, they would continue where they left off with their sword lessons.   
  
Francis paired off with Alex, his favorite partner for staffs. Of all his friends, Alex was closest to Francis in height, weight and strength. They whirled through the drill with ease, perfectly in time with one another, although Francis knew that when they moved onto swords, it would be an entirely different story. Alex was the best swordsman out of all the pages. Duke Gareth even tutored him privately to make sure he was kept challenged. But for now, they were even matched with staffs and it felt good to be back on the practice courts.  
  
After staffs, the pages were sent to work with Merran Shortfoot, their hand-fighting master. The rough, muscular young man was their only common born teacher. He had grown up in the rogue, serving their king as a muscleman and guard, earning extra money from street fights. Now he had turned respectable and served the crown as a training master for pages.  
  
Today they went over basic blocks and punches, reviewing everything thing so that they could use the techniques later in sparring matches. They also joined the new boys as they learned to fall. Francis winced as Alan slammed into the ground time after time, forgetting to cushion the impact by turning his side and slapping the ground with his opposite leg and hand. The boy was sure to have bruises tomorrow.  
  
After a quick review of shield blocks, the pages were herded over to the archery courts. This was Francis' domain. He was okay with his hands fighting and the sword, and good with a staff, but the bow was by far his best weapon. Francis loved the calm, collected feeling he felt as he drew a long bow, just knowing that the arrow would thud into the target exactly where he wanted.  
  
To him, their hour of archery wasn't another grueling lesson, but a time of leisure and fun. Today their archery master let the fourth and third year pages play with whistling arrows that were meant to intimidate enemy fighters with their high-pitched scream.  
  
Finally, the tired pages trudged to the stables for their final hour of lessons, which where spent on horseback. Francis loved the smell of the stables. The mixture of fresh hay and the natural odor of horses always made him smile. Quickly he found his way to the stall where his horse was kept. Honeydew, his golden mare, met him with a welcoming whicker. He had missed his sweet girl over the summer. Deftly, he saddled her and cantered to the ring so that the ridding master could check his tack.  
  
Francis was surprised to find that little Alan had been given one of the biggest horses, Yonder. The redhead tried desperately to control the big gray creature, but Yonder seemed to have different ideas as to where he and his rider should go. Much to Alan's embarrassment, he slipped of the big horse three times, each time conveniently in a large pile of horse droppings. At least Yonder seemed to be enjoying himself.  
  
As the ridding master was lecturing Alan and dishing out punishment for his complaints that Yonder was too big for him, Gary meandered his big gelding, Breakfast, over next to Honeydew.  
  
"That horse is too big for him Francis," he whispered under the ridding master's rants.  
  
Francis nodded, "Drewan of Hollyrose was his rider last year, and you know how that big guy loved to pull on the reins. Yonder, that's the horse name, must have a mouth harder than stone."  
  
"Do you think you might be able to help Alan with him?" asked Gary, "I swear you must be half horse, the way those animals take to you!"  
  
At that moment the ridding master turned back to his class and Francis was unable to respond. Instead, he nodded to Gary when the ridding master turned his head again.  
  
Finally, the bell rang that signaled the end of their afternoon training. Francis could almost hear a giant sigh of relief come from all of the pages. The first day of training was always rough. After taking care of their horses, they began the long walk up the hill that led to their rooms. Most of the hot and sweaty boys, Francis among them, stripped of their soaked tunics and unbuttoned their shirts in anticipation of the cool baths that waited in their rooms.  
  
"Francis, wait up!" Gary called from behind him. Francis stopped, thankful for an excuse to rest on the long trip up the hill, and looked back to find Gary and Alan hurrying to catch up with him.  
  
"Thanks," Gary said out of breath when they finally caught up with him. To Alan he said, "Alan, our Francis is a miracle worker with horses."  
  
"I could help you with Yonder if you want. He's stubborn, but trainable." Francis explained as they continued on their way back to the page's wing.  
  
"You don't have to do that," Alan said uncertainly, "I'm sure with a little time and extra practice I can learn to control him."   
  
"Really, it's okay Alan, I don't mind," Francis insisted, "I did the same for Raoul, Gary too, and loads of others. The palace is notorious for giving the most stubborn horses to the pages. Nobody else wants them."  
  
Alan seemed to waiver a bit, "If it's no trouble..." He wiped several beads of sweat off his face. The poor lad looked exhausted. Francis found it odd that Alan, who seemed to be sweating profusely, had not yet taken off his tunic and shirt like all the other boys. Francis tucked the thought away, explaining to himself that he was probably just shy and unsure if he was allowed to do so.  
  
"It's no trouble, I love horses, and besides," he added with a shy smile, "That's what friend are for."  
  
"There you are Alan, I told you he'd do it!" Gary said as he steered away from them toward his room.  
  
"Thanks Francis," Alan said as he stepped into his own room, the one to the left of Francis's.  
  
Francis smiled as stepped into his room, quickly abandoning his sweaty clothes for the cool water of his tub. Alan was a strange little guy.

* * *

Let me know what you think. Next chapter will be fun; Francis will overhear a certain conversation... 


	4. Second Morning Blues and Blacks

Chapter Four. Yay, I finally posted a chapter after like three weeks. Sorry about the delay. I've been lazy... Anyway, I hope this chapter makes you laugh at some point. I tried to make it more humorous than the others while still keeping all the character in character. I hope it all worked out. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The character, places and events in this story are from the Lioness Quartet, Alanna: the First Adventure and belong to Tamora Pierce. Direct quote from the book are in double quotation marks (""Like this"")

* * *

The next morning when Francis and Raoul were on their way to breakfast, they caught up with a slow moving Alan and Gary.

"Hey guys!" Raoul called cheerfully.

"Hello," Gary and Alan replied, the first much more enthusiastically then the later. Francis noticed that Alan was looking very stiff.

"Second morning blues Alan?" he asked playfully.

"Second morning black and blues," he replied grimly, "Not too bad though," he added quickly. In the short time that Francis had known Alan, he had quickly discovered that the little lad was tough. Alan seemed to hate giving anyone the impression that he was weak.

"Today will be even better!" Raoul promised, laughing.

"I can't wait," Alan replied sarcastically, only causing Raoul to laugh louder.

* * *

After a quick breakfast, the pages hurried on to their morning classes. For Francis, the morning went by fairly quickly. He had made sure that all his class work was prepared and had even finished his essay for reading and writing ahead of time, much to the delight of Master Gadsberth. This year, he had promised himself that he would do his best to make sure that he received as little punishment work was as possible. Francis wanted to be sure that any potential knight master who talked to his teachers would find that he was a hard worker and quick study.

_I just hope that who ever considers me for his squire won't talk to Master Hornsworth_, he thought during a scolding from that very teacher. It would be a shame to get stuck with a desk knight just because his math teacher hated him

Poor Alan, on the other hand, seemed to be getting off on the wrong foot. It seemed that every teacher, except Sir Myles, who hardly gave any assignments, found his work incompetent. The new boy's face grew redder and redder as the morning went on. Francis sent him a silent plea not to talk back to any of the teachers. That would only make things worse.

"Relax Alan," he had whispered to the fuming boy in Deportment, "Don't let them get to you. That's what they want." Alan nodded in response, but looked no less red. Francis shook his head. Someday that boy's temper would get the better of him.

By the time the pages got outside for their afternoon lessons, it had begun to rain. The boys would have grumbled if they hadn't known their training masters would give them extra work. Nobody liked to train in mud.

After an hour of warm-ups, which a nervous Francis led himself, the boys trudged over to the now mud-filled yard where they practiced hand fighting with Master Shortfoot.

"Afternoon lads!" the commoner called cheerfully. The rough man seemed to be basking in the miserable afternoon.

"What's this? You fellas look like a bunch of sick dogs. A little water gettin' the better of you?" he asked them, his loud voice carrying across the practice yard.

The boys, even the first years, were smart enough not to reply to the taunts of their training master. All except one.

"At least sick dogs get to sleep by the fireplace," Ralon of Malven muttered. If he had thought that their teacher wouldn't hear him, he was dead wrong.

"What's that Malven?" he barked, striding over to stand in front of the page. It was just Francis's luck that he was standing next to him.

"Do you want to go inside and rest Malven?" Shortfoot asked sweetly. The man had a habit of spitting when he spoke and Francis winced slightly as drops of saliva splattered onto his face.

"No sir, I just meant..." Ralon stuttered.

"And what about you, Nond, you want to rest too?" Master Shortfoot asked, turning to Francis.

Francis froze, unsure of what to say. He cleared his throat, buying time. The hand-fighting master was an excellent teacher and deserved respected, even if he did make Francis nervous.

Finally Francis decided on, "No, sir, I want to train." It was the only answer he could give.

Shortfoot nodded, "That's a lad! All right fellas, Malven wants to go inside, but we all got to train, Duke Gareth's orders, yeh know. Why don't we help him get acquainted with the great outdoors and mother nature by taking a group run, ey? Off we go!" he shouted roughly.

The boys began to run, following their training master. Soon it was clear that the run was going to be a long one. They were going to go all the way around the inside of the palace walls. Francis fell into stride next to Raoul.

"Great, add this to the list of Ralon induced punishment work," Raoul growled, out of breath from the run.

"It's getting to be an awfully long list Raoul," Francis replied quietly.

"He needs a lesson on how to keep his mouth shut," Raoul said pointing to Ralon's back, a few feet in front of them, "Care to help me teach him?"

Francis grinned, knowing exactly what his best friend was thinking. He quickly checked to make sure that Master Shortfoot was occupied up front, then nodded. He was up for any way to get one up on Ralon.

They split up and picked up their pace until they were just behind Ralon, one on either side of him. When Raoul gave the signal, they both reached down and each grabbed one of the unsuspecting Ralon's legs.

With a grunt, Ralon fell face first into a conveniently large pile of mud. Francis and Raoul laughed as they ran by, other boys joining in their laughter as they turned back to see what had happened.

That's for the time you put horse dung in my saddle, Francis thought happily as he and Roaul raced on, leaving the swearing and muttering Ralon behind.

Soon, they caught up with Gray, Alan, Alex, and Jon. All four were sporting grins.

"Nice one guys," Alex said in greeting.

"Thank you, thank you," Raoul said, bowing awkwardly as he ran, not daring to stop.

"I was hoping someone would get him back for this run." Jon laughed.

"It sure made my day," Alan said, grinning widely.

"What made your day Trebond?" asked Master Shortfoot from behind them.

Even while running, Alan jumped a foot into the air, startled by the stealth of their teacher. The older boys were used to the former rogue's stealthy comings and goings, but Alan was not.

"This- this run, sir." Alan covered quickly.

Master Shortfoot looked him over, trying to determine whether Alan was being prude.

"Well, your running sure ain't making mine! You run like some noble lady in skirts Trebond! Less talking, more running." The hand-fighting master yelled as he passed them.

Alan turned bright red and focused on the ground as the others laughed.

"I don't run like a girl," Alan muttered defensively.

"Of course you don't, and I don't run like a one footed crow," Alex said, "But that's what he called me on my first run."

Alan visibly relaxed. "It's just Shortfoot's way of making a good impression on new pages," Jon explained as they slowed to a stop back at the practice yards.

"Alright lads!" Master Shortfoot called, looking quite refreshed rather than tired from the run, "Pair up!" After the mad dash of people around him trying to get their partner of choice subsided, Francis was relieved to find himself paired with Alan.

"Boys, today we're gonna practice blocking kicks. Now in a fight, an enemy's legs are just as dangerous as his hands, if he knows how to use em'. The target of choice for any kick is, of course, the groin. Now lads, I don't have to tell yeh this, but you do not want to get kicked there." He told them.

The boys chuckled as he continued, demonstrating a block, "One way to block an attack on your family jewels is to lift your knee up like this and turn to the side. This should deflect most attacks. Practice this back and forth with your partner."

Francis turned to Alan, "You ready?" he asked.

Alan nodded and got into a fighting position. They worked well together, each blocking the other's kicks with ease.

Towards the end of the practice set, Francis heard someone walk behind him, but he was too busy blocking Alan's kick to pay any attention to whoever it was.

As he prepared to aim his own attack at Alan, the person leaned over his shoulder and whispered, "No one gets the better of Ralon of Malven."

Ralon shoved him roughly forwards, causing him to kick at Alan before the other boy was ready. Francis's foot hit Alan squarely between him legs, smacking into his practice padding with a thud.

Ralon laughed as Alan doubled over with the impact, then quickly found his way back to his partner as Master Shortfoot hurried over to see what happened.

"Alan, are you alright?" Francis asked worriedly. He knew how much his kick must have hurt.

Alan straightened, blinked twice, and then nodded. "I'm fine Francis, I was just caught off guard."

"You're tougher than I thought Trebond," Master Shortfoot said, "That was a good kick. I know grown men who would have cried getting' a kick like that." He clapped Alan on the shoulder. "Continue if you're sure you're fine, but you can sit out for a moment if you want."

"I'm fine," Alan assured him, rubbing his shoulder where Master Shortfoot had hit him.

Francis set himself back up for the drill. Alan had to be the toughest page among them, for all that he was the littlest. For a moment, he hesitated, remembering the force of his kick. A little too tough, perhaps.

* * *

When Francis finally made it back to his room that night, he was exhausted. The afternoon classes had left him wet, sore and miserable. Serving Duke Gareth at dinner and finishing his assignments had done nothing to help his weariness.

He fell into bed without even changing into his nightdress and blew out the light, prepared to go to sleep.

""Pack your things, we're going home.""

Francis sat up with a start. _Who's in my room?_ He wondered sleepily. _And why are they telling me to pack?_

""We are?"" Another voice asked. Francis reached for a match to see who was in his room.

""I can't do this, the pace will kill me. No one can live this way all the time. I won't-""

By the time the candle again illuminated the room, Francis was awake enough to recognize one of the voices as that of Alan and to realize that the voices were coming from the next room, not his. The walls of the pages' rooms were thick enough, but Alan was shouting and Francis's bed was right up against the wall they shared.

""I never figured ye for a quitter,"" came the other voice. Francis realized that this must be Alan's manservant.

""I'm not quitting! I'm-I'm protesting! I'm protesting unfair treatment-and-and being worked till I drop. I want to have time to myself. I want to learn to fight with a sword now, not when they decide. I want-""Alan ranted.

""Ye want. Ye want. 'Tis something different ye're learning here. It's called 'discipline'. The world won't always order itself the way ye want. Ye have to learn discipline."" The manservant said.

Francis realized that this was obviously a private conversation and that he was eavesdropping. He quickly blew out the candle and laid himself back down, trying to fall asleep.

""This isn't discipline! It's inhuman! I can't live with it, and I won't! Coram, I gave you an order! Pack your things!"" Alan cried hysterically.

Francis was surprised. He knew that Alan was having a rough time, but he also knew that the little lad had what it took to be a page, squire, and eventually a knight. He hoped that Coram the manservant could talk him out of leaving.

""As ye say, but I thought I'd raised ye with somethin' to ye. I didn't think I was bringing up another soft noble lady-""

""I'm not a soft noble lady! But I'm not crazy, either!"" Alan replied.

Francis was glad that Coram was doing his best to convince Alan to stay, but calling his master a girl was a little over the top.

Realizing that he was eavesdropping again, Francis turned away from the wall, pulling a pillow over his head.

He would wait until tomorrow to see whether Alan was really leaving or not. This was a personal conversation and he had no right to listen.

_I hope you stay Alan_, Francis thought as he finally drifted to sleep, _you're turning out to be a good friend._

The next morning, Francis was relieved to find Alan at breakfast. That night, he hung a decorative rug from Nond on the wall he shared with Alan. This muffled out any other conversations from Alan's room that he was not meant to hear.

* * *

Review and let me know what you think!


	5. Dreams

Chapter 5. I know, I know, what took me so long? I don't know, just haven't got around to writing. Sorry guys! Anyway, I just finished Trickster's Queen (Great Book!) and was inspired to update. So here's chapter five. To answer a few questions... As I was first starting to write this story, after typing 'Nond' like twenty times, I realized that it sounded way to familiar to be just from SotL. Then I was like "Paxton!" and I remember than he was Joren's knightmaster. Not to worry, Paxton will fit in said story, I haven't forgotten! (yet) As for Francis not being so bright... well this chapter will deal with that. So enough said, enjoy the chapter!

Disclaimer: The characters, places, and many of the events in this story belong toTamora Pierce and come from her book Alanna: The First Adventure, in the Song of the Lioness series.

* * *

Francis watched attentively as the horse and rider trotted easily around the riding ring. In just two weeks, Alan and Yonder had become quite used to each other.

"Alright Alan, bring him to a stop right in front of me." Francis called to his friend.

Francis saw Alan's distinct red head bobble in a nod as he turned the gelding back towards the stable gate upon which Francis sat.

"I think we've finally come to understand one another, he and I," Alan called cheerfully as he and his horse neared the stables. It was true, in just two Sunday lessons, Yonder seemed to have come to realize that the lump on his back was the one giving the orders.

Alan pulled on the reins about ten feet from the stable, but Yonder ignored the tug and kept up his trot, heading strait for Francis. As Alan desperately pulled on the reins for Yonder to stop, Francis quickly abandoned the stable gate.

Stubbornly, Yonder kept walking until he bumped his head gently into the gate, opening it, much to his delight. Alan gave one more giant tug and Yonder finally realized that his rider wanted him to stop.

Alan reddened with embarrassment and anger, "Why won't he listen to me? He understands everything I tell him, except stop!"

Francis shrugged, "He has a hard mouth. Getting him to stop is always going to be difficult. All I can say is to pull hard and make sure he gets the command." He sidled over to the big creature and patted him delicately on the neck. "He's a good one, just not the brightest torch in the castle."

Alan snorted in response and dismounted. "I don't doubt that," The younger boy patted his horse idly, looking at their surroundings. The palace bells rang, signaling the noon meal.

Alan grinned, "You know I may actually be getting used to this place. I haven't jumped at a bell in three days."

Francis nodded. To him the bells were actually more of a comfort than a bother. They were always constant and reliable. They represented order and Francis always preferred to have a routine.

Alan shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. He ran a hand through his fiery hair. "Look Francis, I just wanted to thank you for helping me out. Someday, I'll find a way to repay you." He stuck out a sweaty hand, which Francis readily clasped. Alan wasn't one to ask for help and he hated even more to receive it. Allowing Francis to help him with Yonder had been a bit of a reach for him.

"I don't doubt that you will," Francis assured his proud little friend, "Let's go eat."

Francis and Alan quickly made their way to the mess, not wanting to get stuck at the end of a very long line waiting for food. Much to their delight, they, along with Alex who looked suspiciously like he had just woken up, arrived first. They each grabbed a tray and stood before the serving maids.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Taylor," Francis said politely to the woman in charge. Francis had learned early on in his training that if you treated the serving women decently, they were more than happy to give you a little extra ladle of whatever was being served. Today it happened to be roasted chicken, his favorite.

"Lord Francis, it's always good to see you!" Mistress Taylor exclaimed a little louder than he would have liked. He felt his face turn bright red as he accepted his meal with a quiet thank-you and moved on to the bread line, Alan not far behind. Francis could tell that Alan was trying to contain a fit of laughter.

In front of him, Alex turned around and winked.

"Quite the ladies man, aren't we Milord," he said, a smile playing on the edge of his lips.

"Shut it Alex," he mumbled quietly as the other boy turned around. He knew he would never have the nerve to speak his mind to someone's face, not even to one of his best friends.

The normal bread server for the noon meal seemed to be absent, much to Francis' delight. He didn't want a repeat of what had just happened now that the hall was filled to the brim with boys who had come for the meal. In her stead was a much younger maiden, no older than Francis himself. She had honey colored hair and rich brown eyes. Immediately, Francis's heart began to quicken its pace as it always did when he was around pretty girls.

"Hello," he said, wincing as his voice squeaked out much higher than its normal tone.

He hoped that the girl had not noticed, but the way she coughed and used her hand to cover a smile told him otherwise. His already red face burned with embarrassment.

"Afternoon, Sir," she replied dutifully in a melodic voice. She slapped a piece of bread onto his plate.

"You thank," Francis said quickly, stumbling over his tongue, "Yank to," he tried again, failing miserably. Giving up, he walked away quickly, almost walking straight into Alex's back. Shaking his head at his stupidity, he stopped to wait for Alan, a safe distance away from the sight of his utter humiliation.

"Hello," Alan grumbled to girl serving the bread, clearly wanting to get away with his food and eat. The serving maiden looked up and smiled.

"Good afternoon, Master..."

"Alan," Alan finished for her.

"Good afternoon, Master Alan, would you like some bread?" She asked staring at Francis' friend with a look in her eyes that said she clearly liked what she saw. Francis shook his head. If even serving maids could prefer little red-headed boys like Alan over him, how would he ever find a girl for himself?

Alan looked puzzled, "This is the bread line, isn't it?" he asked.

"Of course, here you are. I'm Clara, by the way." she said as she placed three pieces of bread onto Alan's plate. Alan got away from the bread line as quickly as possible.

"That was odd," he said as he met up with Francis. He heard laughter behind him and turned to discover that Alex had been watching the bread maiden flirt with Alan as well.

"Odd? My Alan, you must be as blind as a bat, that girl was all over you." Alex said as they made their way to the table where they sat with the others at meals.

"What?" Alan asked, turning red.

"She was pouring on the charm thicker than my mother pours on her perfume!" Alex replied.

"No," Alan shook his vigorously, turning to Francis.

"She was," he admitted quietly.

They sat down and began to eat, however Alan looked as though he had lost his appetite.

"What's the matter Alan, you look as if you're upset about it! Girls," Alex said leaning towards him, "Are a wonderful thing."

Alan shook his head as he played with the food in front of him, never meeting Alex's gaze. "I'm not interested in girls." He said sternly. "I want to be a knight and I won't let anyone distract me. Besides, I'm too young for girls."

"My dear Alan," said Gary who was sitting down next to the younger boy. "Did my ears deceive me, or did I hear you say that you were too young for girls. You are never too young for girls."

Francis ate his lunch in silence as the others eagerly told Alan the wonders of women. He didn't have anything to say. In fact, he'd never even kissed a girl.

After the meal, Francis told the others that he was not feeling very well and slunk to his off to his room.

For a while, he attempted to work on his math, but he found himself too distracted and decided to take a nap.

* * *

He and Alan we standing in the middle of a lake, their feet floating on the warm water's surface. Alan was looking intently at blue clouds in a white sky.

"I always wanted to fly." He told Francis.

Francis nodded, "Me too," They stood there in comfortable silence for a time, watching the clouds go by.

"Why did you steal Clara, the bread server Alan?" Francis asked his friend.

"I didn't," was Alan's quiet reply. He never tore his eyes away from the clouds above.

"Yes you did!" Francis cried as he threw a wild punch at his friend.

Alan shielded his head with his arms as Francis threw more and more blows, though none of them seemed to hit. "I didn't steal her, I swear Francis." He gasped.

Francis stopped immediately, hearing the pleading in his friend's voice. "I'm sorry I doubted you Alan." He looked at the water beneath his feet.

"Love is a strange thing," the younger boy said wisely, "I'd rather not get involved. I don't like girls."

Ralon of Malven appeared behind Francis suddenly and gave him a push. "Ask him the truth," he whispered in Francis' ear before sinking into the water.

Francis was thrown forward and his leg swung out, kicking Alan between the legs.

"Ouch," Alan said before sitting down comfortably on the water.

"I'm awfully sorry, Alan, Ralon made me do it," Francis said sitting down beside his friend.

"I know," Alan said, this time looking into the depths of the lake. "It didn't hurt me like it would hurt any of the others boys though, do you know why Francis?"

Francis shook his head, embarrassed because he somehow felt he should know the answer.

"Because I'm really a ..." Alan began, but Francis never heard the rest. The air was filled with the baying of a pack of dogs and the whisper of winds. Suddenly, a hand reached up from the water and pulled Francis into the darkness of the depths of the lake.

"Gainel!" A painfully loud, yet beautiful voice cried from all around him.

"I'm not Gainel," Francis called, surprised that he could still breath.

"Yes sister," a softer, deep voice returned.

"What are you doing, why are you showing this boy such things? I command you to stop before all is lost." The woman's loud voice bellowed.

Francis wondered who was talking to Gainel, the Dream King.

"I've shown him nothing. I make dreams from only what is already in his mind. Now please leave. Dreams are my kingdom and my kingdom alone. Let the poor mortal rest in peace." Gainel said.

The woman made a noise that sounded oddly like a snort before Francis found himself in the mathematics classroom.

"Mathematics class is not the place for me to rest in peace," Francis muttered. He made his way to a desk in the back row and sat down as the deep peals of laugher that had followed his response slowly faded away.

"Francis!" Everyone called in greeting. Francis grinned and waved in return.

"It's good that you've arrived Francis," Master Hornswort said jovially, "I'll need your help to teach the others."

"Yes," Alex cheered, "He's the brightest in the class!"

Francis looked beside him to see Jon leaning over to whisper to Gary.

"I heard that Master Hornswort has told Francis everything he knows and has nothing left to teach him!" Jon whispered fiercely.

Francis grinned happily. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to find that it belonged to Alan.

"But have you been paying attention?" The younger boy asked, his purple eyes holding Francis' blue ones.

Francis shot up like a bolt of lightening, breathing heavily. The supper bell began to ring as he discovered he was not in the mathematics room, but his own bed. He ran his hands through his sweaty blond hair as he tried to steady his breath. Looking over at the math problems on his desk, he sighed. He had learned nothing about math from his dream. He had, however, learned something much more important from it.

Alan was a girl.

* * *

So, how was it? Was the dream part too confusing? Let me know what you think in a review! Thanks!


	6. Betrayal

**Chapter 6. Okay, wow! Just wow… I got so many reviews… you guys are great! I'm really excited that people are liking this story. Sorry I took so long to get this chapter up. I had school, band, and life in general. Fortunately for all of you (and unfortunately for me) I'm sick and am out of school, providing me with lots of time to update. Now, not to worry, the last chapter was definitely not the end of this fic, but I guess you realized that already since I posted this chapter.**

**Here's some information about Francis which I find quite interesting. Francis had exactly 4 sentences in the book. They are as follows: "Serves him right, he just left his tack on the ground. His horse was covered with sweat. That's no way to treat a good horse." (56) and "He didn't like what happened yesterday," (64) He dies by page 84. It's sad really… he's such a fun character! Okay, on with chapter six!**

**Disclaimer: All the characters, places, and some of the events in the story come from Alanna: The First Adventure, part of the Song of the Lioness Quartet by Tamora Pierce. Everything belongs to her.**

Alan was a girl. He was sure of it, as sure as he knew his own name.

Francis slipped out of bed, and silently he began to pace the length of his room.

_It all makes sense now_, Francis thought, _all the …abnormalities. The strange things he, gods no,_ _**She** did._

Francis' head was spinning as he went over the past few weeks, making sense of all the clues he should have noticed. How could he have been so blind?

Still part of him refused to believe it. His friend Alan a girl? It couldn't be. Why, it was insulting to even be thinking such things!

Francis slipped into his bathing chamber and splashed shockingly cool water onto his face. The water always seemed to calm him down. As he made his way back into the main chamber there was a knock on the door. Francis' first thought was that it was Alan, that somehow he, somehow she knew of his revelation.

"Who-who is it?" he managed to croak.

"Who do you think it is Francis?" said Raoul as he opened the door. He looked around the room expectantly, then shook his head a smile playing on his lips. "For a moment there, I almost thought that you might have a girl in here, the way your voice was."

"No," Francis said quickly, "No girls in here." He winced as his voice squeaked out the word 'girl'.

Raoul laughed outright. "Now you've got me thinking that maybe there _was_ a girl and she climbed out the window."

Francis forced out a chuckle. "Sure Raoul." He set to tidying his bed to avoid drawing attention to his shaking hands.

"Francis, you know, I'm all for keeping things tidy, but this isn't exactly the time for that. It's almost dinner." Raoul said idly, cleaning a bit of dirt out from under his nails with his belt knife.

Francis stared at him blankly for a moment before fully comprehending his words.

"Dinner!" he exclaimed, rushing to do everything at once. He had to serve Duke Gareth in ten minutes and here he was in a wrinkled tunic and his work breeches!

"I was wondering how long it was going to take you to remember." Raoul laughed. "He opened Francis' trunk and began to rummage around. "You clean your hair and teeth. I'll find your uniform."

Francis rushed to obey, happy to have a friend like Raoul. For a while, he almost forgot about the dream.

He and Raoul made it to the kitchen just in time to hear the toll of the last summoning bell. Francis was a bit disheveled, but was overall presentable.

As soon as he trotted into the sweltering, loud kitchen, a serving man shoved a tray with a finger bowl and a towel into Francis' hands.

"Hurry up! The Duke isn't the most patient man and the other lads just left."

Francis nodded and rushed to do as he was told. The dining hall was alive with chatter. Late autumn was among the palace's busiest times. Working knights took the season as an opportunity to lounge in the luxury that their status deserved while their women threw themselves into the delicate games of court. He didn't know much about where his path would lead him, but Francis knew that he would never fit into the hustle and bustle of court.

In this single chamber alone, Francis knew that there probably was enough fabric to clothe all of Tortal, and maybe a bit of Scanra too. There were the bland wools of the north, which he was accustomed to, light silks in brilliant colors for the nobles from the southern cities of trade, and the more practical cotton garbs of those who spent most of their time in court. It was amazing how much you could learn about a noble by how they dressed.

With the ease of long practice, Francis weaved in and out of the other pages and squires as he made his way up to the head dais where the Duke and Duchess sat comfortably at the right hand of Gareth's sister, the Queen. Quickly, he bounded up the steps of the platform on which the head table rested before slowing his stride. Something felt off about his balance, though Francis couldn't quite place it. He would have to figure it out later.

"Your Graces," he said cordially as he executed his best bow.

"Ahh, thank you Lord Francis," The Duchess said as she daintily cleaned her fingers in the bowl. She had on a brilliant crimson gown with contrasting silver trim and jewelry. Francis knew this to be one of her favorite gowns since she seemed to wear it the most often. It _was_ rather flattering on a woman of her beauty. When she finished, Francis offered the fingerbowl to the Duke.

Francis let his gaze wonder over the rest of the table until they met a pair of sparkling sapphire blue eyes. Jon grinned at him, covering his smile with his napkin. Francis shot him a questioning look, which Jonathan replied to by pointing discretely to the ground by Francis' feet before covering a laugh by sipping at his wine.

Blindly, Francis looked for what the Prince was laughing at on the ground. He had greater things to worry about than Jon's source of amusement; Alan's being a girl for one! As Duke Gareth dried his hands, the towel dropped to the ground. When he reached to pick it up, Francis reddened at discovering what was wrong. He made a quick escape back to the kitchen where he took off his boots and switched them to their proper feet.

He made his way back into the Dining Hall with the soup course feeling much better on his feet. Having reached the head table with no further surprises, Francis was confident that he could make it through the meal despite the crazy thoughts running through his mind. That was until he spotted her.

She was laughing at an unknown joke as she served the soup to Sir Myles. Francis looked for some hint, any clue that could allow him to identify Alan as a girl, but there was nothing. She hid her true identity well.

When his foot made contact with the back of a visiting noble's chair, Francis knew he was done for. He pitched forward, having lost his balance and felt the platter carrying the soup bowls fly out of his grasp into the air. The first bowl shattered harmlessly on the floor, but the second continued in a deadly arc aiming right for the Duchess of Naxen. Francis averted his eyes as he heard the splash.

But for a couple of gasps, there was absolute silence.

"Nond," Duke Gareth growled, turning a dangerous shade of purple as his wife shrieked in delayed surprise.

"Sir, I'm truly …" Francis gasped.

"Go. Now."

It was all he needed. Francis shot like a bolt from a crossbow off the dais. He bumped into several of his friends before he found and exit and made his escape. His feet churned steadily beneath him until he realized that they were no longer beating against the stone of the castle, but grass. Francis slowed to catch his breath and to figure out where he was.

Moonlight reflected off one of the stables' many troughs, lighting up the ground around it with the help of torches strategically placed on the walls. Eyeing the cool water, Francis unceremoniously plunged his head into the trough then plopped down in a near by pile of hay.

He didn't know how long he had been running, exactly how many people he had run over, or how he was going to explain his sopping head. All he knew was that his life was over.

_I dropped a bowl of soup onto the Duchess of **Naxen's **head! Gary's mother! The Training Master's wife! The Queen's sister-in-law!_ Francis brought his knees to his chest and curled up into a tight ball, not caring how he might look to any passerby.

What had come over him? He may have made some horrible mistakes before, but never anything like this. In fact, he had been chosen by the Deportment Master to serve on the Duke's table for exactly that reason!

Francis winced as he replayed what had happened over and over in his mind, especially the Duchess' shrieks and the Duke's quiet rage. He was going to be kicked out for sure. No Nond in the family's history, which dated back even _before_ the Book of Gold, had _ever_ failed their knight training. His father would have been so ashamed.

"I suppose there's a first time for everything," he muttered dejectedly to himself, tossing pieces of hay into the trough. "Just like there's a first time for there being a female page!"

There was the root of all his problems. It was all Alan's fault! If he had just been a lad like he was supposed to be, Francis would have never been distracted and gotten himself into this mess in the first place.

Girls were not supposed to be knights! Everybody knew that! They were supposed to marry, and have children, take care of the fief, and, and die cranky old women safe in their beds, not run around risking their necks doing knights' work! Alan had no right to be at the palace. Besides, it was treason to lie to the royal family! Why, Alan had lied to all of them! She'd pretended to be Francis and their circles' friend when it was all just a lie to make her masquerade as a boy more believable!

Feeling betrayed and angry, Francis stood up and dusted himself clean of any stray bits of hay. He knew what he had to do. He was going straight to Gareth the Elder.

He would explain why he had made the mishap and make sure that the Duke relieved him of a certain redheaded liar.

**Humm, didn't expect this chapter to go that way… I'll have to wait and see where this leads. A bit cliffy, don't you think? Review and I'll update as soon as I can get my thoughts down into words!**


	7. A Change of Heart

Chapter 7. Ahhh! It's been way too long. Sorry, no excuses, here's the next chapter.

Disclaimer: The people and places in this story belong to Tamora Pierce. Some of the events come from the first book of her Lioness series, Alanna: The First Adventure.

* * *

Francis was sure of himself for the first few steps. He knew what he needed to do and it was as simple as that. It was his duty to tell the Duke about the girl masquerading as a page; just as it was his duty to explain that this was why he had managed to spill soup all over the Training Master's wife.

However, as he made his way through the stables the voice of doubt whispered in his mind. Was he sure he really wanted to be around Duke Gareth at the moment? Was he sure he wanted to betray his friend?

"He's not my friend! He betrayed me, he's a liar. He's not even a he!" Francis exclaimed out loud in response to the part of himself that hesitated. Horses whinnied sleepily at the sound of his voice.

But had Alan really ever lied to him, besides omitting the fact that he was a girl? Alan had been a good friend to him during these weeks of training. And he'd more than proven himself hadn't he? Alan, girl or not, worked harder in training and studies than most of the other boys there. What right did Francis have to take away his, her, chance at knighthood?

Confused, and angry at his confusion, Francis kicked a nearby sack of feed with an anguished cry. He shouldn't have to be worrying about this!

"I supposed that bag of feed had wronged you somehow. I've been told they can be down right quarrelsome."

Francis spun around and found that his teacher Sir Myles lay strewn in a pile of hay, examining the sky above him through a hole in the roof.

"Sir Myles!" he stammered, "I didn't know anyone else was here. Forgive me."

"Nothing to be forgiven, Francis, we all have our moments, we merely try to avoid having them in front of others."

Francis nodded, but couldn't help noticing the way he slurred his words together. Sir Myles was known for his love of good wine and he wondered if perhaps he had consumed too much.

"Sir," he asked uncertainly, "Uh, what are you doing here?"

His teacher laughed contently, "I had hoped to visit with Stephan, but he seems to be elsewhere." He stood up clumsily. "Francis, would you mind walking an old man back to his rooms?"

Francis bowed, "Of course sir. As a page it is my duty, there's really no need to ask."

As they began to walk, Myles replied, "I've found I make more friends with requests than orders."

They crunched across the straw-covered floor of the stables for a time in silence, Francis still brooding about what to do about Alan. He had been rash in planning to tell the Duke right away. The best idea was to let time tell how he should react.

Francis jumped slightly when he heard Sir Myles' voice beside him.

"I'm sorry, what did you say sir?"

"I asked you what you are upset about tonight, first the incident with the duchess, and then with your tussle with the feed bag." Myles said. Francis couldn't help but notice that Myles did not seem as drunk as he had first assumed. His eyes were bright and his stride was steady.

Francis ducked his head, acutely aware that his teacher was asking him about his personal life. "Just problems with my friends."

"May I ask which one? Your group always seemed very close. It isn't Raoul is it?"

For the court drunk, Sir Myles always seemed to know a lot about what went on in the palace. He hesitated, and then said, "Not, not Raoul sir, it's Alan."

Sir Myles chuckled. "Interesting lad. Not like everyone else, is he? Well I hope you work it out. He seems to be of the good sort."

They had come to the far end of the stables. This was where the sick, old, and dying horses were kept. It was also where the head holster, Stephan kept his room. He said that these horses needed extra attention and he preferred to keep them near him. When they reached the last stall before the stable door, Sir Myles stopped.

"I've heard you know a great deal about horses. Perhaps you could answer a question for me. I've walked by this stall for a couple of weeks now, and my curiosity has finally gotten the better of me. Why is a fine horse like this kept apart from the others?" He pointed to a brilliant black mare with white speckles across her stomach.

Francis opened the door to her stall and entered, beckoning Sir Myles to follow.

"It isn't her, sir, it's her foal." He answered.

Hiding behind its mother was a smaller version of her. The foal was a thing of beauty, with a sleek black coat and bright eyes. She was perfect, except for one oddity. The little foal had five legs; four where you would expect and a limp fifth one growing out of the left side of her back.

"Would you look at that." Sir Myles said in wonder. "A horse with five legs."

Francis nodded, "It only happens once in a million births. Stephan says he'll have to put her down. No one'll want a horse like that. You can't put a saddle on her, or hitch a plow because of her extra leg." He stoked the young horse's neck.

"It's a shame." Sir Myles said, his eyes staring at Francis intently. "It's a shame that she doesn't even get a chance to prove herself. She's survived for weeks, but no one will give her a chance because she's different. She might have become the greatest war horse to ever live, or the fastest creature on five legs to ever fly across the earth, but I suppose we'll never know." He clapped a hand onto Francis' shoulder. "Now that I've walked about a little, I think I can make it back to my rooms on my own. Good night." Myles left quietly, not a hint of uneasiness in his step, or slurring in his speech.

Francis continued to stroke the doomed foal's mane as her mother dozed nearby. Somehow, he didn't think Sir Myles had been just talking about the young horse. Maybe Francis wasn't the only one who had guessed Alan's secret.

He smiled for the first time that night. Suddenly he didn't feel so burdened. Sir Myles seemed content to let things be and now so was he. Perhaps little Alan just might become the greatest 'war horse' to ever live. Perhaps not. Either way, she deserved the chance.

**

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I know Francis seemed a bit too angry in the last chapter, but see his character as a lot like Raoul's, except much quieter: He trusts and has undying loyalty to those he befriends and takes the betrayal of that trust very seriously. At least, that's kind of how I see Raoul. Well, leave me a review and let me know what you think!


	8. Dirty Laundry

Chapter 8. Hey everyone, next chapter's here (obviously!). To wild-wizard-women, I did say a Nond failed knight training didn't I? Well, I contradicted myself and you caught me, thanks for showing me that little mistake. For now, I'll just say that Francis didn't considered his brother leaving to be a failure at training, since he wasn't forced to leave, just a disgrace :) . Thank you all for your reviews, they encourage me to update! On to the chapter!

Disclaimer: The people and places in this story belong to Tamora Pierce. Some of the events come from the first book of her Lioness series, Alanna: The First Adventure.

* * *

"Take this up to the pages wing, room 16, and don't dawdle on your way up." A heavy cloth bag of laundry sailed through the air to thud into him. Francis was able to catch it, but just barely; as it was it sent him backpedaling a few feet to crash into the wall. He peeked over the mass of sheets he clutched and nodded.

"Y-yes ma'am." He stammered. The head laundress was a force to be reckoned with. The woman was a grandmother and she had bigger muscles than the blacksmith back at Nond! Francis had made the mistake of thinking her old and frail from her frizzy white hair, faded head scarf and wrinkles, but he was quickly educated. Madame Terrace was stronger than a bull and just as temperamental. The other laundresses, no frail maidens themselves, held her in awe and fear.

"Don't look at me like a doe peering down the shaft of an arrow! Go! What are they teaching you boys these days? And don't hold that bag like it's an half drowned cat! You drop it and I'll dunk you in yonder vat, then we'll all see a half drowned cat! Skedaddle!"

"Yes ma'am." Francis blushed and retreated to the stair that would lead him out of the palace launders. He couldn't help but hear the snickers of the laundresses as he almost tripped over his own feet.

When he reached the main floor of the castle, he sighed in relief. Cool air pulled his hair in every direction and persuaded his sweaty shirt to come away from its position glued to his back. He breathed an audible sigh of relief, not caring who heard.

"Just one more week, and it will all be over," he told himself. Duke Gareth was more than just a master of sword play; he was a master of torture. For his mishap when serving Duke Gareth and his wife, the training master had sentenced him to a month of working at the palace launder every night and extra lessons on the art of grace with the Master of Deportment every Sunday. Worst of all, Francis _still _had to serve at their grace's table.

Francis quickly made his way up to the page's wing and headed to Alan's room, where he had been ordered to deliver the freshly cleaned sheets. Juggling the bundled into one arm, he reached out hesitantly to knock on his friend's door.

He waited for quite some time and there was no answer. When he put his ear to the solid wood of the door, the room sounded abandoned. Francis had at least hoped that if Alan wasn't there, her manservant Coram would be, but the gruff man had signed on as a palace guard and was on watch. He was just turning around to head to his own room when he crashed into none other than Alan herself. Clean linens rained down upon the notoriously dirty stone floor of the page's wing.

"Sorry," Francis muttered, getting down on his knees to pick up the mess. He kept his face down, never meeting Alan's eyes. Ever since he had learned the truth about her, Francis found that whenever he looked into her amethyst eyes, he tended to do something horribly clumsy. It was best to avoid them all together.

"No, my fault," Alan said lightly, "I wasn't really paying attention." She held up a belt knife which she skillfully balanced on her index finger. "I was practicing a new trick I learned." She flipped it lightly into the air and caught it by the hilt, sliding smoothly it into its sheaf on her belt. Then she knelt down to help him pick up the laundry.

"What do you and Gary do when you go into the city, share drinks with thieves?" He asked, trying to joke. Ever since her eleventh birthday, Duke Gareth had allowed her to go into the city on Sundays with the other pages of good standing.

"Very funny, laundress," she stammered, turning bright red, "Someday when you weary of your new hobby, you can come with us and find out."

Together, they dragged the tangled mess of cloth into her room and tossed it haphazardly on the bed.

"I hope I never vex the duke enough to get sent to the launders." Alan said with a laugh.

"Tis' a very scary place," Francis agreed quietly.

"Oh look, isn't this just precious. Two lovely country maidens folding laundry! I always knew there was something odd about you two." Ralon of Malven leaned casually against the threshold of the open door.

Alan's fist curled into tight balls. "Really?" she asked, voice casual, "I only see one, and she's quite a brute if you ask me."

Ralon stalked into the room pale with furry. "Take it back, boy, or I will rip your arms from your body."

"Really," Alan asked, her face as bright as her red hair, "Because I'm not sure you could figure out which ones are arms and which are legs."

"Enough!" Francis said, not wanting any more trouble than he already had. Nothing good would come of Ralon and Alan fighting, especially for Alan. He shoved Ralon back towards the door with all his might. The bigger boy went much farther than he had expected: working his arms weary at the launders was coming in handy now. Ralon stumbled back a few feet into the waiting arms of Raoul who had appeared in the doorway.

"Leaving so soon Ralon?" Raoul asked, his voice void of its normally friendly ring. He wrapped his big arms around the bully and squeezed. He lifted Ralon heavily off the ground and tossed him out into the hall.

When Raoul came back into the room, he acted as if nothing had happened. "Francis," he exclaimed, "just the fellow I was looking for! You simply _must_ assist me with my philosophy paper. If you will excuse us Alan?"

Francis bid farewell to a still heavily breathing Alan, and followed Raoul back to his room. Once the door was firmly closed behind them, his friend turned to him.

"He's getting worse, you know."

Francis nodded, "And he's taken a liking to Alan, s-he's the littlest, the easiest target."

Raoul rubbed the stubble that had begun to grow on his chin. "See, I'm not so sure he _is _the easiest target. Someday Alan will get back at him, mark my words."

When Raoul went to fetch his philosophy papers from his bed, Francis whispered softly, "I don't doubt it; she's done more fantastic things before."

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Leave me a review and let me know what you think! Thanks! 


	9. Enemies

Chapter 9. Hey, I'm back with another chapter, and a pretty long one since the last one was a little short. To queen-of-sapphires (and others) - Yes, I have to agree the five legged horse was a bit unbelievable and convenient. However, there are births of animals in which, due to a mutation (or something along those lines), extra limbs grow. In my case I tried to use it as a metaphor and I think it got my point across, but in the future, I may go back and change the horse's difference to something a bit more believable. Haha, what can I say? I was a bit desperate for something, anything really. To wild-wizard-women – You're right, 'pocket knife' wasn't the word I was thinking of, I actually meant 'belt knife' and so I'm adjusting that. Thank you all for your reviews and input. On to the story!

Disclaimer: The character, places and events in this story are from the Lioness Quartet, Alanna: the First Adventure and belong to Tamora Pierce. Direct quote from the book are in double quotation marks (""Like this"")

* * *

The weather had finally turned fair, and Francis for one was glad of it. The winter had been long, cold, and filled with laundry. He never wanted to see another washboard in his life.

Gary breathed in deeply, "Don't you just love spring?" he asked, spreading his arms out wide, taking in the forest around them. "The sun, the flowers, the birds…"

"Getting out of lessons early…" Jon cut in. The others cheered in agreement. Master Shortfoot had released them early from their hand fighting lesson as a reward for their hard winter's work indoors.

"Yer only young once, maybe twice in a lifetime like in my case," He had said with a wink, "Go frolic and get this spring nonsense out of yer blood now. Tomorrow we start workin' with clubs and ye'll want all yer wits about ye then." Francis, Raoul, Jon, Alex, Alan and Gary had chosen to spent their hour in the shade at the edge of the Royal Forest, too tired to swim with the rest of the boys, but not crazy enough to go inside.

"And don't forget," Alex said, resting his head on his interlaced fingers, "New ladies, fresh from the convent." Alex's insight into the season brought another set of cheers from the boys, but Francis noticed that Alan's cheer was half-hearted. The convent was where noble girls of her age were sent to become ladies. Not for the first time, Francis wondered how and why she came to train as a page instead.

"Fellows," Raoul said, sitting up suddenly from his sprawled out position on the grass, "We're to be squires soon, well, all except Jon and Alan!" He slapped these two heartily on the back.

This comment brought a thoughtful quiet upon the group. These next few weeks would be the last they would probably spend with each other for a long while. They would go off in different directions with different knight masters. Francis might not see his friends again until their Ordeal. He quickly changed his path of thought. He didn't have to worry about his Ordeal for another four years.

The palaces bells broke the silence, summoning them all back to wash up before they had to serve at their tables.

Alex was the first to stand up. "We'd better get our horses back to the stables and rub them down." Reluctantly, the rest stood up and mounted their steeds, heading back to the stables.

Francis took a long time grooming his horse, giving her the proper care and attention that she deserved. By the time he finished, only he and Alan remained in the stables. Yonder, it appeared, was being a troublemaker and refused to sit still and allow his master to give him a proper rub down. Francis knew better than to offer his friend a hand. He knew that she would just refuse. Instead of offering advice to her, he instead directed his comment to her horse.

"He may look little, but I bet he could eat you in one bite if you make him angry enough." Yonder looked at him innocently, then turned his big head to look at a rather red faced Alan and quickly settled down.

"When I get my own horse," Alan promised, finally making progress, "I'm getting a mare. They're much easier to handle." She blew a stray lock of hair out of her face comically.

Francis hesitated, then took a risk. He needed to know something. "Not all ladies are docile, I've come to find," Francis said calmly.

Alan froze. It was only for an instant, but Francis' sharp eyes saw it. Then she let out a very forced laugh, "Like who, Madame Terrace, I suppose?" She had finished brushing Yonder and slipped him a carrot from her breeches pocket.

Francis smiled weakly. So she planned to keep her true identity a secret from even her friends. Fair enough. Francis swore right then and there to the Great Mother Goddess that he would do whatever he could to help Alan get her shield. Gods knew that if she was willing to disguise herself as a boy, earn bruises and broken bones in training, and do all the studying a knight's lesson's required, she would make a good knight.

"I was actually referring to one of my sisters, but Madame Terrace is a perfect example." He shivered at the thought of the laundress.

Alan waved her arm, indicating the door. "You'd better go and get ready for tonight's meal. I'll be along later, I just want to see how my old pony Chubby is doing."

Francis smiled and left the stall with a wave. "See you at dinner."

Outside he encountered Ralon leading his horse, just now returning from wherever it was that he had been lurking. Francis was disgusted to see that the poor creature was covered in sweat and appeared to have not seen water in a good while. Ralon opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. His eyes measured Francis carefully. Ever since their last encounter, Ralon seemed to have rethought his ability to torment Francis.

Francis, feeling unusually bold at this sign of hesitation from the bully, stopped and stood his ground in the middle of the path to the stable.

"Better get a move on Malven, don't want to be late."

"Move," Ralon growled.

Francis stood his ground and stared up at Ralon, unblinking. Finally, he stood aside and let the other boy pass. "Because _I_ am a gentleman." He explained, then stalked away.

When Ralon was out of earshot, Francis slumped down, letting his breath stream freely out of his lungs. _Who was that boy back there?_ he wondered. It must have been Raoul or Gary or someone else, because it sure wasn't him. He quickly made his way back to his rooms, never looking back.

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That night, Francis and his friends met in Gary's room, relishing a bit of delightful news that Alex had overheard a pair of maid's talking about. Ralon would spend his free time for the next month following Stephan's orders in the Palace Stables. Francis loved the stables, but he sure didn't envy anyone who would be spending hours there shoveling manure.

""Serves him right. He just left his tack on the ground. His horse was covered in sweat. That's no way to treat a good horse."" His muscles tensed at just the thought of it.

Alex nodded his agreement. ""I wonder how he thought he could get away with it.""

""He probably tried to make some little guy do it, isn't that his usual."" Raoul said. He looked over at Francis and thumped him heavily on the back.

"It used to be Francis here, but from what I hear, someone's been getting a bit bold." Francis blushed. His friend had been ecstatic when Francis told him of his stand against the bully. He looked over at Alan to find that she was avoiding the conversation by examining the condition of her shoes.

""Alan - you were the last one in this afternoon. Do you know about this."" Gary asked.

""No."" Alan said curtly.

""I'd like to see him mess with our Alan. I'd pound him to a bloody pulp."" This was Raoul, of course.

""I do my own fighting, thanks."" Alan interrupted before Raoul could continue.

* * *

The next day, Francis and the others learned just how true this was.

On their afternoon break the next day, the pages went to a nearby swimming hole in the royal forest. Gary, Raoul, Jon and Alex were quick to strip down and jump in with the other pages. Francis took his time, making sure that his horse was comfortable, then took care of his friends' quickly forgotten steeds. It was a hot day and they needed water just as much as the boys did.

When he came back to the pool, he spotted trouble.

"I don't want to swim Raoul!" Alan said angrily, taking a spot in the shade on the pool's bank.

"Come on Alan," Raoul pleaded, "We were going to play beaver's dam, but we'll have uneven teams!"

If Francis was sure of anything, it was that it would be hard for Alan to keep her masquerade up if she had to strip down and wrestle with the boys in the water. They just might notice something was different about their friend.

"It's alright Raoul," Francis jumped in, "I'll sit out for a while, that'll make the teams even again."

"Oh come on guys!" Jon said, whooping as Gary snuck up from behind him and dunked his royal cousin under the water playfully.

Francis stared longingly at the cool water, but shook his head. "I'm too tired," He said plopping down next to Alan. His sitting out served him trice. First, he _was_ tired after a long day of training; Second, this way Alan didn't look like more of an odd man out than she already was; And third, he wasn't sure he wanted a girl to see him only clad in his loincloth quite yet.

"I'm not much for swimming," he remarked quietly to Alan, "It's not something we can do easily up north, can we?"

Alan nodded agreeably, "Too cold." She sat, hugging her knees to her chest, watching the game going on below her.

Understanding that she didn't really want to talk, Francis pulled a stack of letters from his pocket and decided to take care of the needs of Nond, now that he had the time.

Not long after he sunk into his work, a shadow came in front of them. He wasn't surprised to see that Ralon had taken an interest in Alan once again.

""Too good for us, Master Alan?"" he asked, his voice thick with loathing, ""Afraid to get in the same water with us?""

Alan stood up, holding her ground. ""Leave me alone,"" Francis started to get up too, but stayed where he was. This was Alan's battle and she would hate him if he tried to interfere.

""Leave me alone! Too good to swim with us, Alan the Snot?"" Ralon was taunting his worst and everyone around them was silent, waiting to see what would become of it.

""I don't feel like swimming."" Alan decided finally, putting her hands on her hips. The tension weighed down the air, adding to the heavy damp.

""Into the water page, We'll have some fun."" Ralon latched onto Alan's arm, trying to force her into the water, but she was too fast for him. She lowered her fiery head and slammed it into his gut, throwing him back into the water.

Raoul and Jon took care of him from there, holding him under the water, teaching him the errors of his ways and making sure that he remembered never to mess with their friend again.

""Malven! I don't like to swim. Don't try to get me into the water again! And don't order me around either! The next time you try it, I'll break your face! D'you hear me?"" Alan cried.

She sat heavily back down on the ground beside Francis, muttering curses under her breath. She had quite a vocabulary for a girl of her age.

"Don't waste your breath over Ralon," he said looking up from his letters, "He isn't worth it."

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Review are appreciated, especially CC. Thanks! 


	10. Guilt

Uh yeah, so it's been a _wicked_ long time since I've updated. I really meant to a long time ago; I had half of this chapter written like a year ago, and I just forgot to finish it. So enough said about that, here's the next chapter. It's a little short I know, but I wanted to get another chapter up to inspire myself to continue. Please read and review: any CC is welcomed and greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: The character, places and events in this story are from the Lioness Quartet, Alanna: the First Adventure and belong to Tamora Pierce. Direct quotes from the book are in double quotation marks (""Like this"")

The next few days were as hot as the last. No one had enough energy to do much of anything after the day's training was over. Most of Francis' friends set their minds on a cool bath to soak their aching bodies. Alan decided that she would go look after her old pony, Chubby. Francis, unfortunately, found himself with a deportment paper that he had conveniently forgotten about in hope of finishing when the weather cooled down. It hadn't and the paper was now due tomorrow.

The palace libraries were stifling. The air was so heavy and moist that his ink took significantly longer to dry. He had made this discovery after writing several lines of his essay only to find that they had turned up on the sleeve of his brand new shirt.

Francis stood up to stretch and made his way over to a promising breeze near the window. He had always admired the view of Corus that the palace provided. The setting sun was just beginning to fall behind the peaked roof of the Goddess' temple in the Temple District, turning the ground below into a sea of stretching purple shadows. During the quiet summers he spent at Nond, Francis almost missed the hustle and bustle of the city. He grinned at his own joke. Almost, but not quite.

As the wind brushed his sweaty blonde hair back from his forehead, his sharp eyes picked up movement below him. It the dim light of the twilight, Francis noticed a small figure slowly trudging up the path leading from the stables to the palace. Quickly recognizing the Alan by her fiery hair, Francis waved in greeting from his perch two stories above the ground.

Though Francis was sure Alan had seen him, she made no reply and instead focused on the ground as if she hadn't. Something was not right with his friend. Francis took a quick look over at his disappointingly short and smudged essay before jogging out of the library in hopes of intercepting Alan on her way back to her room. He caught up with her just a moment too late. As he turned the corner into the Page's wing, the door to Alan's room was just closing.

"Alan!" he cried out in vain before he heard the door solidly bolted. Francis picked up the hint that his friend wasn't in the mood to talk. He turned away and found himself face to face with Raoul.

"I was just looking for you, my lord," he said, snaking his large heavy arm around Francis' shoulder. Against his will, Francis slumped with the added weight before casually shrugging it off.

"What for?" he asked as he stepped back to keep all of Raoul in view.

"Well, you know that Gary's birthday is coming up…"

Francis nodded. "He hardly lets us forget."

"In keeping with tradition we're going to need to…" Raoul was cutting off as Alan's door opened, revealing Alan's manservant Coram.

"Evening lads," he said shortly before hurrying past them.

"Excuse me sir," Francis called after him. Coram hesitated, and then turned back. "Is something wrong with Alan?"

The older man stroked the stubble on his chin before nodding. "Aye, the lad says teh tell you that he's not feeling very well tonight. I'm off to fetch him some juice and a bite to eat." He nodded politely and continued in the direction of the kitchens.

"That's odd," Raoul noted, following the retreating figure of Coram, "He seemed well enough after lessons. Well, as well as any of us anyway." He turned and knocked on Alan's door.

""Alan? It's Raoul. Coram says you're sick. What's wrong?""

""Nothing,"" was the only angry reply he got.

"Something's up," Raoul said puzzled.

"I noticed he looked a little worn when he was coming back from the stables." Francis read the concern on his friend's face, and continued, "I'll go get the others."

Alan wouldn't open up to any of her fiends and the harder they tried to get her to open her door, the angrier she seemed to get. For a while Francis was worried that her problem might be what his mother was fond of calling, "a womanly matter"; however, he eventually decided that she was a bit too young for that.

Jon was that last to arrive in the small huddle around Alan's door. He quickly took charge of the situation and stepped to the front of the circle.

""Alan. Open the door."" He commanded in the voice he preferred to only use for royal business. It was a command, one that Alan had to comply with.

""I – I'm sorry I yelled. It's just the heat, I guess –"" She said as the door slowly creaked open. Shadows hid her face, but one eye seemed remarkable darker than the other.

""Look at me."" Jon said, helping her comply with his hand.

Francis bit his lip as the others gasped. Alan was a mess, to say the least. Her nose looked mashed and the red trails under both nostrils showed that it had only recently stopped bleeding. Her right eye was in even worse shape. It was a nasty shade of grey and blue that was so swollen Francis could only see a sliver of his friend's trademark amethyst iris. Her good eye traveled to each member of their group, taking in their reactions before she pulled out of Jon's grasp and turned away to busy herself in her room.

""What happened?"" Jon asked, his voice a mixture of pity and rage.

""I fell down, Highness. In the stables,"" Her good eye flashed, daring anyone to say otherwise.

"He fell and Raoul's suddenly taken a liking to balls," muttered Alex quietly enough that Alan couldn't hear.

_It's all my fault_, Francis realized, his heart thudding loudly in his chest. _I stood up to Ralon and he got mad and took it out on Alan. Mithros, she's just a girl!_

He repeated it over and over again in his head_. I as good as gave her that beating myself_. Francis felt himself backing slowly away from the group, running his hands anxiously through his hair. _It's all my fault_.

Francis didn't realize that Alan had gone back into her room until Raoul put a hand on his shoulder. Francis looked up to find the other boys looking at him.

"Everything alright Francis?" Raoul asked, worry in his eyes.

Francis could do nothing but shake his head. "No," He finally managed to croak. With a look from Raoul, Alex, Jon and Gary left in silence, hurrying off to the kitchens to prepare for the meal. Within moments the hallway was deserted.

"Francis," Raoul started, but Francis wouldn't meet his gaze. "It's not your fault," he went on, giving his shoulder a gentle, comforting squeeze.

"Yes." Francis said, "It is." He twisted out of his friend's grasp and turned away. No matter what anyone said, he knew that what happened to Alan was his fault.

"What good is making things better for yourself when you only make things worse for others? Is this the kind of knight I'll be? One who gets his comrades hurt or killed for his own personal victories?"

To his surprise, Raoul laughed. "Francis, you take too much of the world upon your shoulders. This had nothing to do with you. Do you hear me? This is not even close to being your fault. Ralon of Malven is a dog. Don't you dare feel responsible for his actions."

Francis turned slowly back to his friend. "Francis," he continued, "You'll be an amazing knight; you can be sure about that."

Against his will, Francis found himself grinning. "And how do you know that?" he asked as they began to walk together towards the kitchens.

"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Raoul asked. Francis raised an eyebrow. "Well, _I'm_ going to be a great knight and I figure some of my greatness will rub off on you." Francis laughed and playfully shoved his friend, feeling the tension that had built up in his stomach leave him.

Raoul was right: Ralon's actions had been his own and while Francis couldn't help but still feel responsible, he knew that dwelling wouldn't help the situation. As the noise of the kitchen faintly reached their ears, Francis broke their comfortable silence.

"Hey Raoul…" he ventured.

"Hmm?"

"Thanks." Francis finished quietly. Francis wished he could find the words to say more, to tell Raoul what his friendship meant to him, but he knew that Raoul understood. Raoul rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed, and opened the door to the stifling and noisy kitchens.

"Let's get this over with so we can figure out what to do about Ralon the Rat."

Let me know what you think in a review!


	11. Letters

Hurray, another chapter up and in less than a month. Thanks so much to all the people who reviewed; I was worried that no one would even remember this story. You guys are great. That being said, on to chapter eleven!

Disclaimer: The character, places and events in this story are from the Lioness Quartet, Alanna: the First Adventure and belong to Tamora Pierce. Direct quotes from the book are in double quotation marks (""Like this"").

* * *

After dinner, somehow Alex, Jon, Raoul and Francis all made their way to Gary's room. For a while, they all sat rather uncomfortably, each waiting for someone else to start. Francis let his eyes wander around Gary's room aimlessly.

The majority of Gary's room was chaos. There was hardly any floor visible beneath the mounds of papers, practice weapons, dirty clothes and numerous other things that Francis couldn't identify upon it. Gary never seemed to throw anything away, always claiming that it might come in handy some day. Despite how disorganized it might appear to the untrained eye, Francis knew that Gary could always find what he was looking for in the fray, no matter how much mess there was. Francis almost smiled, remembering the time Gary had rushed out of Deportment class to dig up some of his old notes in attempt to prove to the teacher that he had contradicted himself on the use of Gallan soup spoons. He had earned himself a two thousand word essay on Gallan etiquette and the Deportment master still refused to admit his mistake.

""It was Ralon!"" Raoul growled finally, breaking the uneasy silence.

""He didn't like what happened yesterday,"" Francis replied. Being shoved into the water by a little guy like Alan must have been a blow to his ego.

""It's time we dealt with him," Alex suggested, looking to Jon. In the end, it would be the crown prince who would decide what they were going to do about Ralon. They all knew it. ""He forgets his place.""

""I'll teach it to him,"" Raoul steamed.

""He forgot the lesson you taught him yesterday,"" Gary pointed out.

As the other boys discussed their plans of getting back at Ralon, Francis' mind was going in a different direction. He knew that he wasn't much good when it came to getting things done with fists. He would take care of his personal revenge in his own way: quietly, with lasting effects. While Ralon might forget a beating, what Francis had in mind would stay with him for a long, long time.

* * *

The next day, during a run in hand fighting class, Raoul pulled Ralon into one of the many nooks in the castle wall and repaid him every blow he had rained on Alan, five times over. When Ralon finally managed to drag himself the rest of the way along the wall to where the other pages were wrestling, he ratted Raoul out. Master Shortfoot almost seemed sorry to send Raoul to see Duke Gareth. Francis could have sworn he heard the hand fighting master mutter, "You've got a hell of a left hook Goldenlake," as Raoul trudged off to receive his punishment.

When Francis finally caught up with his friend later that night, he could hardly get him to calm down.

"That little piece of…" Raoul began as he stalked his room. He slammed his massive fist down on his desk for emphasis, then cursed and grabbed his newly injured hand. It looked like the desk hadn't faired well either: a thin crack now snaked across the once smooth writing surface. Raoul paced his room some more before falling to his knees, opening a trunk at the foot of his bed. Noisily he began to rummage through it.

"I can't believe he told. What self-respecting page would whine about getting a little beating? Mithros, we get them every day from our training masters!" He stopped digging through the trunk for a moment to throw his hands in the air and look to Francis for encouragement. Francis nodded dutifully in agreement.

"Exactly!" Raoul cried as he returned to his search. "There's a code!" Raoul was, for the most part, a very cheerful fellow who was easy to get along with. However, if someone crossed him and made him angry enough, Raoul could get _very_ mad. In all the years that Francis had known him, he could count the number of times Raoul had been really mad on one hand.

"I've got to work in the launders for three months!" Raoul continued, "And on top of that, I have to write a formal apology to that rat." He evidently found what he was looking for in his trunk because he stood up briskly and kicked the trunk closed with his foot. Clasped tightly in his hand was a small flask and he took a quick drink of whatever was inside before continuing.

"Do you know what the worst part is though?" He plopped down onto his bed next to Francis, who was scratching out yet another mistake on his math work.

"What?" he asked, putting down the parchment and giving Raoul his full attention.

"Duke Gareth thought he deserved it," he said incredulously, "It's just that his hand are tied is all." Raoul took another gulp from the flask. Francis caught a whiff of Raoul's breath and it smelled suspiciously of whiskey. Strong Scanran whiskey if he had to guess. The last thing that Raoul needed was for one of their training masters to catch him drunk and off guard. It could ruin his chances of getting chosen by a good knight master when they became squires.

Raoul caught Francis staring at the flask and shook his head. "You're right, this won't help anything." He put the stopper back into the flask and tossed it into his desk.

"Well, working at the launders won't be so bad," Francis said quietly as he stood up. The bell summoning them to bed had just rung and began to gather together all of his books. "I know some people there. I'll see to it that they treat you right." Raoul laughed and lay back on his bed. On his way to the door, Francis grabbed the flask and stuffed it back into the depths of the trunk.

"Good night Raoul," Francis said over his shoulder, slipping out into the hallway and closing the door. As he turned around to head to his room, he crashed right into Alan. They both dropped all of their papers in the confusion and fell to the floor to try to sort them out.

"Sorry," Francis, muttered, blushing profusely, "I should have looked where I was going." He began to blush more brightly as he noticed that he was closer enough to brush his lips against hers. _Now where did that come from?_ Francis thought, giving his head a little shake to toss those ideas out of it.

"It's my fault as much as yours," Alan said sorting the papers out into two piles. Francis looked at her profile out of the corner of his eye, checking to see how she was healing up from the fight yesterday. It seemed impossible, but it looked as if her black eye had gotten even worse.

It took Francis a moment to realize that last night it had been Alan's right eye that had been swollen, but now the swollen eye he was looking at was her left.

"What happened to you Alan," he whispered fiercely, gesturing to her eye.

Alan stood up and busied herself in organizing her papers. "I already told you. I fell down yesterday, _remember_?" she growled.

"Last night only one eye was swollen," Francis pointed out as he stood up. "Tonight there are two."

Alan reached her fingers up to her left eye and winced as they brushed the bruised flesh. She shrugged. "The bruise must have just not shown up until now." They began to walk in the direction of their rooms, Alan walking briskly in front of him, trying to get away.

"I'm no healer," Francis said softly, "But I'm not a fool either. Last night you had only one black eye. Ralon must have given you trouble again." Alan spun around and stopped in front of him, blocking his path to the door. "It's because of what Raoul did, isn't it?" he finished, surprised for the second time that week of his boldness.

"I told you I fell," Alan hissed.

"And I told you I was no fool," replied Francis evenly. She shifted her papers and punched him in the arm. Hard.

"I. Fell." Alan cried. "What don't you understand?" With a vicious glint in her swollen eyes, she stormed into her room. She turned around quickly before she closed the door.

"And even _if_ I _had_ been in a fight, I can handle it myself. I don't need you to look out for me." She slammed the door in Francis' face. Francis stood there a moment, shocked to have been scolded so thoroughly for merely trying to help. Of course, he understood what she was feeling, not wanting to appear weak to her friends. He had been there himself.

Against his better judgment, he knocked softly on her door.

"What?" She yelled as she opened the door.

"I know you can handle yourself Alan. I don't think you're weak, if that's what you're getting at."

"Yeah, then tell that to Alex, Jon, Gary and Raoul," she said calming down a little, no longer yelling.

"They don't think it either. They just jump at any excuse to beat on Ralon. It's their hobby you know." Alan shrugged, rubbing her arm uncomfortably.

"I _can_ handle this," she repeated quietly, yet fiercely. Francis nodded his agreement and turned to leave.

"If you ever fall again, make sure you go for the ground's nose. It's his pride and joy, I've seen him admiring it in the mirror," he muttered as Alan closed her door.

Francis returned to his room, quietly changing into his night robe, and took a seat at his desk. Instead of finishing his math work as he knew he should, he pulled a piece of parchment from his desk and set about to finishing a letter he had begun to work on the night before. He worked by the light of only one weakly burning candle, not wanting to attract attention to the fact that he was up much later than lights out.

He had to word the letter very carefully and the draft was full of blotches and scratch outs. By the time the watchman announced it was midnight, he finally had everything the way he wanted it. Bleary eyed, he set about to copying it over dozens of times and finally made it to sleep about an hour before dawn.

He had sealed each letter, imprinting the coat of arms of House Nond on to each with his insignia ring. Francis' family seal would ensure that each letter would be read without delay upon arrival; his father had turned Nond into one of the most respected and wealthy fiefs in northern Tortall and he had made many friends through his horse trade. The more lords who read the letter, the better.

Francis fell into bed, feeling quite pleased and when he awoke to the bells an hour later, he forced himself to wake quickly. He paid a palace messenger a silver noble to ensure that his letters reached their destinations promptly. As he watched the messenger scurry away, he nodded contentedly to himself.

He knew that Alan would deal with Ralon in her own way, and that she might hate him forever because of the letters he had just sent, but soon Ralon of Malven would learn that he should _never_ cause trouble for any friend of Lord Francis III of Nond.

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Well that's it, please leave and all CC. Thanks! 


	12. Duty

Hey everyone, it's me again. Yes, this story is still alive, and I hope to finish it sometime this summer. It's not the plot that's making me slow, it's getting the time and will to write it all down. Anyway, here's chapter 12, enjoy!

Disclaimer: The character, places and events in this story are from the Lioness Quartet, Alanna: the First Adventure and belong to Tamora Pierce. Direct quotes from the book are in double quotation marks (""Like this"").

* * *

Classes that day were a rather hazy blur of teachers smacking him on the head to wake up during morning classes and sloppy mistakes that earned him even more bruises during afternoon training. The sensible part of him tried to remember that as a knight, he would have to survive many sleepless nights, but this of course was only a small, annoying part of him that he tried to shut up. Francis was nothing less than dead on his feet. His friends had themselves a good laugh over his clumsy sleep-deprived state, asking him what or who exactly had kept him up all night, but he was too exhausted to even be embarrassed.

As Francis striped his sweaty practice clothes slowly off his aching body, he heard a smart rap upon his door. Muttering nonsense about unwelcome guests, he quickly slid his uncomfortably sticky shirt back on and shuffled over to answer the door.

"Good eve', my lord," said a brightly dressed palace messenger with a bow. "A message has arrived for you." He unceremoniously stuffed the letter into the bleary-eyed page's hand and bowed again.

Before Francis could offer his thanks, the messenger hurried off to deliver the rest of the large bundle of letters under his arm. Shaking the sleep from his eyes, Francis closed his door and plopped down onto his bed. He flipped the letter over slowly in his hands.

At first, Francis believed that someone had already replied to his letter, but he quickly abandoned this thought when he recognized the neat and flowery lettering of his mother's script on the envelope. He unsheathed his belt knife and slit open the envelope. Francis was sure that there couldn't be any more pressing matters from Nond since he had received his weekly update two days ago, yet here was another letter from his mother. Two slips of folded paper slipped out of the envelope, each sealed. The first was addressed to Duke Gareth and the second to himself. Francis shook his head and felt his palms become sticky. He didn't have a good feeling about this; anything that required explanation to the training master could not be a pleasant matter. Puzzled and shaking slightly, he began to read.

_Dearest Francis,_

_I'm sure you will share in my joy upon hearing that you elder sister Felicia has graduated from her studies at the convent and will soon be arriving home before she is to be introduced at court this autumn. Once she arrives, you will have the honor of presenting her to the royal family. I have yet to arrange a satisfactory marriage for her, so I am sure that you will do your best to introduce her to all of the young heirs and lords at court._

Francis squirmed in his seat at the thought of formally approaching the royal family, let alone finding the right words to introduce someone else without sounding like a bumbling idiot! The thought of trying to sell his sister off to every bachelor at court sat even worse in his stomach. On the bright side, it seemed as if his worries were all for nothing. He wouldn't enjoy standing in front of everyone, but at least his mother and sisters were all well. _Duty_, he thought with a sigh as he shook his head and continued the letter as he changed his clothes.

_I'm terribly sorry that this responsibility falls upon you, as I know that these sort of social measures make you uncomfortable, but you are our family's only tie at court. We need to secure a good marriage alliance for Nond, especially after the whole fiasco your brother caused, leaving his training like he did. I suppose that without your father's influence keeping him there, he saw no reason to waste his time. If it weren't for the fact that your father had just passed, people would realize that Franklin left the palace on account of his laziness as opposed to the inability to handle his dear father's death. Imagine how much more difficult this presentation would be if only they knew! As much as I love your brother, it is quite a relief that he has decided to stay with my brother-in-law for the time being. The Cavalls are an honorable and disciplined clan, perhaps they will rub off on him._

At this Francis nearly laughed. Lord Wyldon the Elder of Cavall was indeed a formidable man. One need only look at his young son Wyldon the Younger to see what his discipline could produce. Francis's cousin Wyldon, even at the tender age of 6, was as obedient and stern as his father. Even so, Francis was unsure whether such influence would have an effect on Franklin, who could easily sleep until noon if his curtains were undisturbed. Still chuckling, Francis flipped the sheet of paper over and continued to read his mother's letter.

_Speaking of the Cavalls, my sister Margaret sent me the most delightful let…_ Here the letter was cut off by a series of cross-outs and blotches for a line or two before his mother continued her correspondence. Francis felt his pulse quicken; His mother's neat and tidy script here became rushed and urgent.

_Francis, your sisters and I require your assistance immediately. Fires from the plains of southern Scanra have traveled over the border. The dry and hot summer we have had here has only worsened our situation. I can see the glow of the fires every night now. I fear they will reach Nond before we will be able to properly prepare for them. When I think of the villagers' homes, covered with dry thatch, and of the wilting wheat fields… I can only pray to the Goddess that we will be able to do enough to at least save the crops. I hate to disrupt your training, but I'm sure you understand that we will need every hand available to salvage some of what we will need to survive the winter. I have enclosed a letter to your training master explaining the situation and requesting permission for you to ride to us immediately. May the gods give you speed and protect you on your journey._

Francis blinked and read the last part of the letter again. His home, his family, his people were in danger.

In a moment he was revived from his stupor and leapt up from where he sat on his bed. Quickly he stripped off his page's uniform and changed into clothes more suitable for travel, all the while thinking of the damage the fire could do to the already failing crops at Nond.

This mess was all his fault; he had received news about the fires in Scanra before they had even been close to the border. He had thought nothing at all of it! Francis ran his hands through his sweaty hair. He had also known far too well of the dry conditions and of the steady winds from the north from the reports sent to him in the weekly weather log. Why hadn't he realized the threat!

Anxiously, Francis began to throw money, clothes, and anything else he thought would be useful into his travel packs. His father would have realized the danger of the fires. He had always known what was best for the fief. Had his father been alive, he would have already had trenches dug around the village and fields. He would have already alerted the villagers and arranged for them to stay in a neighboring village if the danger came too close. He would have already had every bowl, barrel and bathtub filled to the brim with water, ready to douse an attacking blaze.

And here he was, his father's hand-chosen successor, the son whom he had trusted with the fruits of all his labor, the last to realize the threat to Nond! Francis had failed him. Nond would have been better off with Franklin as its lord. Even _he_ would have been some help!

When everything that he could think of to pack in his frenzied state was safely tucked away in his travel bags, Francis grabbed the letter addressed to Duke Gareth and left his room, slamming his door behind him for the first time he could ever remember doing so. He ignored Alex's cheerful greeting as he passed him in the hall and stalked off in the opposite direction towards the training master's office.

Before he knew it, Francis found himself standing in front of Duke Gareth's door. He raised his fist, hesitated, and finally knocked. The training master's voice from within told him to enter. Francis struggled to turn the door knob with his sweaty fingers, but finally managed to successfully unlatch the door and enter.

Duke Gareth was seated comfortably behind his desk, looking over a rather large stack of papers in front of him. Upon seeing Francis, he removed his reading glasses and nodded at the chair in front of him.

"Good evening Francis," he said, "I would have expected you to be preparing for dinner down at the kitchens at this hour." Francis reddened slightly as he sat, remembering another way in which he had failed to uphold his duties. Not meeting the duke's eyes, he wordlessly handed Gareth his mother's letter.

With a sigh, the training master broke the parchment's seal and leaned back in his chair to read. Francis shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Duke Gareth learned of his inability to properly care for his fief. He stared at his folded hands, twisting in his lap.

A few moments later, Duke Gareth cleared his throat and placed the letter down on the desk in front of him. When Francis finally risked a look at his expression, he found it not filled with disappointment, but with understanding.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear of this threat to Nond, and of course, I will excuse you from your training until all is settled at home."

"Thank you, your grace. If you will give me permission, I would like to leave immediately." Francis stood to wait for the training master's answer.

"Of course, of course," replied Duke Gareth thoughtfully, "I will arrange for some food for the journey to be brought directly to the stables. I wish you the best of luck Francis." He stood up and placed his hand on Francis's shoulder. "This sort of responsibility shouldn't fall on such a young lad. You should only have to worry about your training, like the rest of the boys your age. Even so, I hear of the way you take care of the needs of Nond on top of your duties as a page, and I must tell you Francis, I am very impressed. I'm certain your father would be very proud of you. You handle the fief just as he would himself, were he still with us. He chose wisely when he decided to leave Nond in your hands."

Francis felt himself redden and muttered his thanks for the training master's understanding. Duke Gareth chuckled. "You also receive a compliment just as your father did. You are dismissed. I wish you a safe journey and of course rain for Nond."

Francis bowed himself out of the training master's office and ran back to his room to gather his things. After locking his room and leaving a note of explanation for Raoul, who he was sure would inform the others, Francis made his way to the stables and rode due north out of Corus with about two hours of light left to travel.

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That's it for now. Please leave some CC in a review. It's much appreciated, thanks. 


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